“Come over after school,” Jordan said. “Maybe we can hook you up.”
“Listen, Jord, I know you’re just trying to be a good friend and get me laid, but how about you worry about you and I’ll take care of myself. Huh?”
“Aw, man, you don’t know what you’re missing!”
But Tom had seen the girls, the beer and pot, and he thought—actually, I think I do know what I’m missing. He hadn’t met anyone through Jordan who interested him. So far. “You take care of you—I’ll take care of me.”
Still, Jordan was one of the few friends he’d made. And Jordan loved coming out to the ranch and hanging around the horses sometimes. The general didn’t like him, but didn’t have a really good reason. Tom found himself a little torn—grateful to have a friend at all, but hopeful that someone a little more substantive would show up before too long.
A young man came into the bar and claimed a stool right in front of Jack. He was clearly under thirty. Jack eyed the polo shirt, khaki pants and loafers—not the mountain attire most commonly seen around here. This guy was not hunting, fishing or splitting logs. He gave the counter a wipe and said, “What can I get you?”
“How about a beer?”
“That’s our specialty,” Jack said, serving him up a cold draft. “Passing through?”
“No, as a matter of fact. At least I hope that’s a no—I just started teaching at Valley High School. I thought I’d get to know some of the folks around here.” He took a pull on his beer. “You have any high schoolers?”
“Brace yourself,” Jack said, lifting his coffee cup. “I have a new baby. By the time he gets to high school, I’ll have a walker.”
The young man laughed. He put out a hand. “Zach Hadley.”
“Jack Sheridan. Welcome aboard. How do you like it so far?”
“A little out of my experience, to tell you the truth. I’m used to a bigger school, city kids. But I wanted to give a rural community a try.” He grinned. “The kids find me real interesting—they laugh at my clothes.”
Jack grinned. “Lotta ranchers, farmers, vintners and that sort of thing around here. That, and hunting and fishing.” He nodded at the young man. “Not a lot of golf.”
“Is that what I look like? A golfer?” He chuckled. “Figures.”
Mel came into the bar, the baby on her hip. She passed the baby right across the bar to Jack. Jack hefted the baby and said, “Mr. Hadley, meet David, your future student.” David laughed, put a finger in his mouth and farted, bringing a big laugh out of Jack.
“Yeah, he’s just warming up. He’s going to be one of the fun ones, I can tell.”
Jack reached underneath the bar for the backpack. He very deftly slipped David into it and then the straps over his shoulders. “Mel,” he said, while getting David comfortable. “Meet Zach Hadley, new high school teacher in town.”
They shook hands and Zach explained he was renting a small place outside Clear River and was just getting around, meeting neighbors and parents of his kids. “Well, you’re here at the right time,” Mel said. “The locals will start turning out for a beer or cup of coffee.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Do you run this place with your husband?”
“No. I’m a nurse practitioner and midwife. I work across the street with Doc Mullins in his clinic.”
“Is that a fact?” he asked, intrigued.
“It’s a fact no one around here gives birth in daylight,” Jack said, serving his wife a short beer.
“My very able helper,” Mel said. “When I have a delivery at Doc’s, Jack usually sits up through the night in case I need him for anything.”
Mike came into the bar, took his place beside Mel. Jack introduced him as a former LAPD police officer who’d served with him in the Marine Corps. Next was Doc.
“You know, there’s a lot of interesting experience in this little bar. I bet it would be good for some of the kids to hear about your career choices. How about it?”
Mike said, “I’ve done that, actually.”
“You have? How’d it go?” Zach asked.
“Hmm,” he said, shaking his head. “They wanted to know two things—have I ever shot anyone and have I ever been shot. My answers were yes, and not yet. Shortly after that I was shot. I don’t think that’ll get the department any recruits.”
“I’d be happy to talk to the kids about birth control, sexually transmitted disease and sexual assault,” Mel said. “I’ve been looking for a way into the school—this is pretty conservative country.”
“Mel,” Jack said, “Zach was just saying he’s new and hopes he’s not just passing through.” Preacher came into the bar with a rack of clean glasses. “Preacher, meet Zach, new high school teacher in town. He’s looking for some volunteers to talk to his students about their career choices.”
“Hey, man,” Preacher said, shoving his rack under the bar, wiping a big meaty hand on his apron and sticking it out. “Nice to meet you.”
“You could talk about being a chef,” Jack said.
Preacher looked at Zach, smiled and said, “No way in hell. I barely talk to my own wife. Welcome to town.” Then he went straight back to the kitchen.
Zach leaned over the bar and looked past Mike and Mel to Doc. “Dr. Mullins?” he questioned hopefully.
Doc lifted his one whiskey of the day along with a bushy white eyebrow. He sipped, put the whiskey down and said, “In your dreams, young man.”
Zach picked up his beer and said, very good-naturedly, “That went well.”
“You know what you got yourself here, young man,” Jack said. “You got yourself an excellent place to have a beer.”
“How about you, Jack? You’d do it, right?”
“Sure, Zach. I’ll go tell the kids all the advantages of owning your very own bar. Right after that, Mel can teach them sexual responsibility. Kind of a little family business.”
“That’s it,” Zach said. “An excellent place to have a beer.”
Three
Sue and Doug Carpenter and Carrie and Fish Bristol—best couple friends—had been having an after-work beer at Jack’s a couple of times a week since he opened, so Mel knew them well. And Sue had called Mel to make an appointment for her sixteen-year-old daughter. On the phone she had said, “The girl is pregnant and we have to do something.” Well, this was Mel’s job—to give medical attention to pregnant women, whatever their age or marital status. And Sue was a bit put out that Mel insisted on seeing her patient alone first.
“What have we got, Brenda?” Mel asked, looking at the chart.
“I guess I’m pregnant,” she said. “Figures.”
Mel looked up from the chart. Brenda was a high school junior. From gossip between the Carpenters and Bristols at the bar, Mel had gathered that this girl was an honor student, cheerleader, student council officer—a leader. College bound; scholarship material. Nature certainly doesn’t discriminate, Mel thought. “Do you know how many periods you’ve missed?”
“Three. Can you get rid of it?”
Mel tilted her head, surprised by the caustic edge to the girl’s question. Brenda had always been soft-spoken, on the sweet side. The tragedy was usually that these young girls were ready to throw away their lives, their promising futures, based on some immature romance with a young boy. Didn’t sound as if Brenda was suffering from that syndrome. “You have lots of options, but first things first—how about I examine you to be sure that’s what’s going on.”
“Fine,” she said shortly. “Whatever.”
“Okay, let’s get you in this gown. Everything off. And I’ll be back. How’s that?”
Rather than answer, Brenda snatched the gown and didn’t even wait for Mel to leave before she began undressing.
Mel went to the kitchen, had a sip of her diet cola and ran this over in her mind. Maybe Brenda was just mad at her mother for finding out. Maybe the boy had taken off. Maybe a lot of things, she thought. She reminded herself to stick to the facts for now.
She gave Brenda a few minutes, knowing better than to stretch this out for too long. Brenda didn’t need to settle her nerves; she needed to get this over with.
“Have you had a pelvic before?” Mel asked her.
“No,” she said shortly. “Just do it.”
“Sure thing,” Mel said. “But let me get your blood pressure and listen to your heart first, if you don’t mind.”
“Whatever.”
“Brenda, excuse me, but are you angry with me?”
“I am angry in general,” she said.
Mel sat on her stool and looked up at the girl. “Because…?”
“Because this sucks.”
“Well, people make mistakes. You’re human…”
“Yeah? I could live with that if I knew I was making a mistake!”
“Okay, let’s back up a little. Want to tell me about it?”
“Why bother? Do it, okay? You’ll just think I’m as stupid as I already think I am.”
“Try me,” Mel said, crossing her legs, resting her arms on her knee.
“I went to a party. A kegger. I got drunk. I woke up sick. Puking sick. The guy I was with said he passed out and nothing happened. But obviously someone is lying if I’m pregnant.”
Mel couldn’t help herself—her mouth dropped open. “Brenda, you told your mother about this?”
“Not until two periods didn’t come, because how was I going to know? I did one of those home test things. I never thought it would be…positive….”
“Were you sore? In your vagina?”
“I was sore everywhere! Like I’d fallen down a flight of stairs! And so sick I wanted to die. My vagina was about the last thing on my mind!”
“When you woke up—you were dressed? Any evidence of rape?”
“Completely dressed. Right down to the vomit on my shirt. And in my hair,” she added with a shudder.
“And you were with friends? Anyone see anything?”
“I was with a couple of girlfriends and one useless guy. They were all as drunk as me. We’d never… It was like the first time for something like that. I’ve had maybe one or two beers, but I’ve never been to a kegger before. I’m obviously not much of a drinker.”
“Do you remember drinking a lot?” Mel asked.
“I don’t remember much of anything. A couple of the guys said I was totally shitty. Drunk out of my mind. And one of my girlfriends swears my date really did pass out right away.”
“Ever think there could have been a drug involved? Slipped into your beer?”
“What kind of drug?” she asked.
“What do you think happened?” Mel asked her.
“I think I got hammered and let some guy— Obviously I wasn’t in a position to make a good decision. Plus, these are my friends. Well, the girls I went with are my friends—they wouldn’t lie to me. I don’t hang out with the other ones who were there.”
“All of them were your friends?”
“Someone’s not—unless there was a guy there who also doesn’t remember.”
Mel leaned forward. It was in her mind to ask Brenda if she’d ever heard the term, whiskey dick. “An unfortunate reality for most males is that too much alcohol inhibits erection or ejaculation. Whoever did this remembers.”
“And is lying…”
“Well, somebody’s lying—and if you’re pregnant and can’t remember getting that way, it probably isn’t you. Brenda, you could have been raped.”
